Short Story Sunday: Birthday Girl

"So it's you," she said. "The Norah Singleton."

I swallowed. 

"Do you two know each other?"

"Not exactly," I said.

"Oh, I know her all right. She's been flirting with my Henry for years."

Short Story Sunday: Tying Shoelaces

The refuse truck shuddered the sash windows as it passed Will's front door. He waited for the last of the diesel fumes to dissipate before starting the timer on his watch. Mrs Phillips' Basset Hound regarded him with watery eyes as he pounded past the daffodils and around the mailbox. There was a bite in the air, not that he noticed. His head was full of yesterday's disaster.